October Blush
by deConstruction
Summary: Welcome to the world of a male escort, where lines between love and lust are not as always clear cut as they first appear to be... Please R&R!
1. People watching

**A/N****: New story. Okay, I have a bunch of other stories on the go at the moment, but I've been wanting to write this one for ages. So I hope you'll forgive the indulgence of my muses and enjoy this piece.**

**This story will contain mature adult content, of both a male/male, male/female and possibly even female/female nature. If any of the above bothers you in the slightest, you might want to skip this one.**

**Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. This story is AU in so much as superstars and personalities from the WWE will be involved, but in a different context to how you normally see them. I don't have permission to use, nor do I own anything/anyone from the WWE. I disclaim as this story is not written for profit, only reading enjoyment.**

**Thanks must go to my mentor and friend Rae for her support and guidance, and to Ms. Shanny for being my boy on boy muse. And of course, to the person behind another great story who inspired me to write this. You know who you are. I hope your SBP makes you proud with this one.**

**Read and review!**

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Have you ever walked into a bar and just taken a look at the people around you? Just stopping and taking stock of the other human beings. Seriously, you must have done it at least once. No? Well, its sort of a hobby of mine - people watching I suppose you could call it. I actually really enjoy it, honing my skills over the years, just puzzling people out by looking at them across any given space. You should try it. There's a lot you can tell about a person from just looking. You can get so much from just about anything about them really. Take for example the way they're sat, what they're wearing, how their hair is styled, who they're sat with etc. You get the general idea. People are an open book if you have the right eye to read them.

I pride myself on having 'people' down to a tee, but I wouldn't class myself as a people person. Far from it actually. _'People' _piss me off. I prefer one to one conversations than group socialising. There's just something about it that gets my panties in a bunch. Call me antisocial if you like, but in a choice of going to a club and staying home with a pint of ice cream and a Paul Walker film marathon? Well I'd much rather be by myself.

Given my penchant for the loner stereotype, it's beyond strange that I'm an excellent judge of character. I'm probably far too judgemental, but I honestly can't help it. I'm the sort of person who sums up a person's character within ten seconds of meeting them. If first impressions matter, then I'm your judge, jury and executioner. Once my opinion is formulated, it sticks. Other than divine intervention, that opinion stays. If you're in my bad books, that's where you stay. My friends don't know me for changing my opinions of people. I'm pretty unforgiving in that respect I suppose. I forget nothing and forgive even less. Well it's not exactly a bad attitude to have is it? Forgiveness is overrated.

So you see that woman in the corner? Yeah her, behind the woman in the red coat. Do you see her? Sat in that corner booth, pressed up against the wall. I bet you fifty bucks she hasn't had a guy, at least in the Biblical sense, for at least eighteen months. Just look at the way she sits, cradling that glass of whiskey but not drinking it. Her eyes are staring across the room but they're not really seeing anything at all. The way she's made an effort to look all pretty – the hair, the make-up and the shoes. She obviously is not out to pick up a guy. Her posture is all wrong for that. Too stand-offish and proud. She wants us to think that she's waiting for someone, that she's got a date who maybe is running late or something. My guess is the fiancé ran out on her – maybe with the secretary or something and she's never gotten over it. There! You see how she's playing the engagement ring on her finger? Classic sign.

Looks like someone is going to end up as a cat-lady.

It's sad really. The last thing that woman must want is our pity, but ironically it's all she's going to get. Pathetic. Why bother with the front? We know no-one is coming to meet you honey, why the illusion that you're not alone and unloved. I swear if I ever got that psychotic about a man I'd throw myself off something very tall.

What? You think that's harsh? I just call them like I see them. Don't pity her, she doesn't deserve it. Not being a woman myself, I can't really empathise that much, but the principle must basically be the same. A guy shits on you, you just pick yourself back up and move on. Don't wallow in feeling sorry for yourself. That's just indulging your ego. Move on, get back out there and find some dick.

Okay, maybe I'm not the best person to give relationship advice. Lord knows my track record more than speaks at my dismal attempts at romance. In fact, just the word 'commitment' tends to make me go incontinent. But I accept that about myself - the fear of commitment that is, not the crapping yourself part. You got that was a joke, right? Anyways, I'm not the kind of guy that can have a relationship. I'm just not built to settle down with anyone, and I'm okay with that. And if I'm being honest, it makes my job a whole lot easier.

Ah, I set myself up there, didn't I? Now you have to ask the question, what is my job? I suppose the correct term would be 'rent boy' although you could say call boy, hustler, hooker and all the other euphemisms that basically mean I'm a male prostitute. Now before you start pointing fingers and calling me a whore or whatever, I'll have you know I'm a high-class hooker. I don't sleep with just anyone, despite the fact I get paid for it.

And I didn't become a hooker because of my sad and terrible life. I entered the profession of my own free will. Sure, originally I did it as a way to make some quick cash because I lived alone. But back in those days, I was living hand to mouth, so a little dick to ass action was necessary to ensure the rent got paid. But I never felt degraded for what I do. My problem is that I have an incredibly high sex drive, and this is the only way I deal with it. It all started when I discovered masturbation when I was twelve. The first time I orgasmed…well it felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. And you know what they say, once you pop you can't stop? I've been fucking like it was an Olympic sport for years. That first burst of cum broke the dam and I've been leaking the stuff ever since.

I won't lie, I started out on the streets. I was eighteen at the time, and I worked the streets and bars for about three years. It was never anything depraved or dangerous. I had more sense to hang around street corners. I tended to pick the uglier people, the sort who are looking for love but won't ever get it, if we're being honest. The lonely middle-aged women sat drinking by themselves in bars, or the obese gay guys lurking by the toilets in clubs. Decent people who were just looking for a release. Being a good looking guy with a tight little body, I provided it. For a fee. Back then, it was my intention to earn enough money to get into college, and keep a roof over my head and meal on the table. But that was all before _Blush_ came along.

_Blush_ is the name of the service I work for. One of their escorts was meeting a client in a bar I was cruising. We got talking, and the rest is history. _Blush_ snapped me up when I was eighteen years old and I haven't looked back. Yes, I know I said I started on the streets when I was eighteen, and worked there for three years. Well if anyone asks, I'd been eighteen years old for three years before I started working for _Blush_.

I won't say anymore, because you'll just become an accessory.

Anyways, _Blush. _

They have the highest class of clientele, with the strictest of vetting procedures. Not just anybody can employ the services of_ Blush_, and just because you've got money doesn't guarantee you entry to our services.We don't just do escorts however,_ Blush_ has its own small chain of adult shops and are branching out to the world of erotic films next year.

But the main business we deal in are escorts.

By the way, this is all strictly confidential. I hope I don't have to tell you not to repeat any of this, because it would mean my ass. Literally. You have an honest face, so I trust you not to say anything.

So where was I? Oh yes_. Blush._ We provide escorts for the fabulous people – which basically means people better than you. Celebrities, socialites, politicians, pop stars, actors and the out and out rich. They all come to_ Blush_ for their satisfaction needs.

Our service is impeccable, and we cater to all tastes. If you want a blonde haired eighteen year old Swedish boy with dimples when he smiles, we can get it. Or maybe you're more into an Italian forty-something housewife, covered in 'Mamma's special sauce' spread eagled on your kitchen table and no spoon? Hell, if you want a threesome with two Thai lady-boys wearing leather and wielding a riding crop in the back of an SUV, we'll get it done. No job is too much; no sexual fantasy is beyond the escorts that_ Blush_ employs. We are the best of the best.

For that reason, we don't advertise our services. We come to you. If we feel you match the criteria for one of our clients, and think you'd be interested in our services, you'll receive our members' card. We deliver them in many ways – attached to a gift card, in your pigeon hole at work, via your assistant. It can even appear in your coat pocket, because we're that good. The card gives you the web address for _Blush_ and a password. Your password is unique, so we know who is accessing our website at all times. There, you can browse the profiles of all the escorts at your leisure. We book over the internet, and payment must be made by discreet direct debit. We don't do cash darling. That's far too commons for us.

Once a client has made their selection, they call our number and one of our dedicated service operators will discuss what you'd like from us, including locations and any special extras. We're a very accommodating organisation for a price. Once that's done, our clients sit back, relax and wait for one of us to arrive.

I'm not going to tell you our going rate, because it honestly varies from case to case. I happen to be one of the highest paid escorts on the books, and the fee depends on what it is you want. The escort, the location, the length of the session. The boss is pretty selective on which jobs are given to me. I'm known for being versatile and accommodating. I'm booked by everyone - men and women, both gay and straight. One time, this butch lesbian booked me just so she could tie me down and fuck me with a strap on. Good times.

All I'll say is I'm well paid, and so is Blush. They take twenty-five percent of the payment, plus a five percent handling fee. However, any tips I make on the job are mine to keep. It's the only time I'll accept cash, and with good reason. Depending on which client you get, the tip can be more than the booking fee.

As I'm sure you can imagine by now, no-one so far has returned our card so far.

It all sounds fabulous right? High class service with fantastic people to choose from? Well, booking your escort for the evening is a little more tricky than that. It depends on the availability of the person (or people) you want, and your grading. We grade our customers between one and five. If you're a five, you're new to_ Blush_ and/or you only barely make the grade of client. Our more loyal customers can progress up to as high as number two, as well as the more well known personalities who can enter the system higher than five.

However, the highest grade a client can enter on is three regardless of who they are, and some never move beyond level five. We operate a loyalty scheme of sorts, so the longer you're with us the better service you get. Last time I checked? We had exactly fourteen grade ones. I don't think I need to explain, but if number one calls? You drop everything and run.

Speaking of number ones, they get more than the best service from us. There are sixteen of us escorts - a range of boys, girls and everything in between that are considered the best on the books, and reserved for the pleasure of grade one clients. That doesn't mean we don't see other clients, but our number ones get the first pick of us. Having said that, I don't remember the last time I did a number five. I'm pretty sure it was that actor dude, the Irish one who thinks he's a bad boy because he drinks and chain smokes. Yeah. Real tough. His two our session was over and done with in twelve minutes.

I guess I don't need to tell you that I'm part of the sixteen, right? Of course I don't. It's obvious.

I'm number fourteen. I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly did I? My name is October. October Blush. No, that's not the name I was born with, it's my Blush name. And no, I'm not going to tell you my real name. None of the clients know it, and I doubt even the boss remembers it. I've been October for so long, I can't really remember a time when I was called anything else. I'm not a special case by the way. When you join the company, you're given a name and your last name becomes Blush. All the escorts are part of the Blush family. Just think of us as being like the Osmond family - with dildos instead of microphones.

And yes, I am here tonight because I'm on a job. I don't tend to frequent hotel bars unless I'm on a job. Of course, to me, it's obvious I'm here on a job. I bet you expected a rent boy to be dressed more provocatively - all leather pants and tight tee-shirt, am I right? Hardly. Here's a tip. Whenever you walk into a bar, look for the people dressed in business suits. It's a dead give away. I'm all in Dolce tonight because I'm working. It's a dead giveaway for prostitutes. We're always in suits.

You see that woman over there, in the red pin-stripe suit? She works for _Blush_ too. That's September, another of the sixteen. She's a sweet girl, if a little extreme. You always know when the perverts are in town, because September is out on a job. Between you and me, she's into fisting. The weirdo in me wants to hang around and see who it is that's booked her, but I can't.

I'm meeting a client here for a quick drink, before heading upstairs to his room. He's booked me for two hours tonight, and requested I wear women's underwear. And you thought that 'panties in a bunch' line was a throw away comment. Nope. Pink lace all the way baby.

I'm actually looking forward to this one. My client tonight, he's that rock star everyone is going on about. What's his name? Well, if I tell you, you have to swear not to say. It wouldn't do to know who uses our service. Discretion is our policy. But his name is Jeff Hardy, part of that band _'Rainbow Haired Warrior'_? Yeah, you know the one. He's always in the papers for being something of a heartbreaker. He's done every starlet and socialite on the block. But between you and me, every now and again, he likes a little guy on guy action.

Well it's been fun, but I have to go. It won't do for my client to arrive and see me sat talking to you. He'd be threatened that I'm sat here talking to such a gorgeous woman when I'm here to see him. Clients are sensitive that way. But I'd love to talk to you again sometimes. Here, take this card. It has your own personal password on there. Just log on and check out our profiles. Maybe next time we meet, I'll be meeting you for an evening. I hope so.

Stay beautiful.


	2. My Hardy Boy

_**A/N**_**: Update ladies and gents. As always, apologies for the length of time between them, but I hope this one was worth the wait. This chapter is for my FFF baby and my greatest muse, the Princess Shanny! Hope you girls enjoy!!**

**Warning: This chapter contains strong sexual references and a fairly racy sex scene. Its not too bad though, I promise**

**Please R & R!!**

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A client once asked me do I consider myself to be gay.

That's a tough question. At the time, I found it mildly insulting that I'm giving this dude a world class blow job and he wants to know my sexual preference. I must be losing my touch.

But it's actually an interesting thought. I mean, I'm pretty loose when it comes to defining sexuality. Well, I'm loose when it comes to a lot of things but that's beside the point. I think the idea of being gay has become yet another pigeon hole for people to push you into. I'll be honest with you. I'll sleep with almost anyone. Male, female or in between. Orientations don't mean too much to me, it's the person that interests me. My own clientele tend to drift more towards men, but that's just how it works out. It doesn't mean I don't get the same thrill from being with a woman.

I guess if I had to define sexuality, it all boils down to one thing. Relationships. Who is it at the end of everything, that you want to take home and have as part of your life? If it's a woman, you're straight. If it's a guy, you're gay. Simplistic maybe, but that's my theory. Guys who book me can be the dirtiest sexual perverts for those two hours during which we're a tangle of limbs. But when it's over, they go home to their wives and girlfriends and slot right back into the perfect, 'American family picture' life. The fact that they love to fuck a guy three ways from Sunday doesn't matter. The key point to remember is that they don't want to have a relationship with a guy.

Not everyone will agree with me, but that's how I think on it. And it's what I tell the clients who are nervous about being with a dude. Just because you want to abuse my sexy little body, doesn't mean you're queer. It just means that you appreciate the inherent beauty in the male form. And my form happens to be pretty fine, if I do say so myself.

Hang on, I didn't answer the question did I? Do I consider myself gay?

Honestly, no I don't. But then I don't consider myself straight either. Confused? Let me see if I can explain. I have to be something, right? I'm obviously not asexual, considering the amount of people I sleep with. But like I said, to me sexuality is defined by relationships. Well I wouldn't have a relationship for love nor money. They are destructive, life sucking things that ruin a person's life. I'm sure I already said I'm not built to have a relationship. I swear I'm physically, emotionally and mentally unable to be with just one person. I'm just not. October and relationships do not work. Trust me when I tell you that. It never ends well.

I don't know what made me think of all that. I guess it must be because I'm puzzling out this Jeff Hardy character that I was telling you about. For a guy who is in the papers every day for screwing any female with a pulse, its strange to me how much he loves men. He's never booked me before, but I checked out his profile earlier today and he's been with _a lot _guys on the books. I like to do that, check the profiles of my clients. It gives me a clue into who they are, and where they're coming. Checking out Jeff's, I can see he's blazed a trail through the male employees of Blush.

No, seriously. A hell of a lot of them. In fact, I may be the only guy he hasn't been with yet. He's done a few of the girls too, but not many. I suppose you wouldn't pay for the gender you literally have on tap. But the fact he doesn't seem like relationship material makes me wonder if Mr. Hardy and I have more in common than I first thought. Maybe, like me, he just enjoys connecting with people on nothing more than a physical level.

God, I am so full of shit.

So anyway, you were asking me how the night went right? Well, I'll say this much for Mr. Hardy. His punctuality leaves a hell of a lot to be desired. He was twenty minutes late. That might not mean a whole lot, but it does when I was left alone fending off the advances of the bug-eyed, pot-bellied guy at the other end of the bar. Seriously. I wouldn't even if the dude paid me. And that's saying something.

Other than the fact that I'm a stickler for good manners, I should never be left alone to my own devices near alcohol. Simply put, I don't mix well with the hooch. I'm a total lightweight and everyone at Blush knows it. In fact, it was my best friend April Blush who once told me after one glass of white wine, I'm anybodies. After two glasses, I'm everybody's!

Sad. But true.

Thankfully, my low tolerance wouldn't be problem that evening. I spotted Jeff before he did me. He isn't exactly a guy you'd expect to blend in, not least because of the vibrant shade of purple his hair had been coloured. It hung down on either side of his face, the tips just grazing below his perfect cheek bones. I took just a moment to study his face, and I was certain this guy was worth the wait. His eyes were a vast ocean of green, inquisitive and yet soulful. You'd have to see them to believe it. It was like there was so much going on behind them, it would take an entire lifetime to figure it all out. But you wouldn't mind because the end would be worth it.

It's his lips that got me. They're full and look velvety soft - the definition of kissable. But that's not what made my skin tingle. It's the ring that gleams proudly at the centre of his bottom lip. The way it pierces the skin of his chin which looks so tanned from days being in the southern sunshine. _Sweet Jesus_. I had to start looking away from that piercing or I would have been propping the bar up myself. _Look Ma! No hands! _

Both of his eyes fell on me at once. Seemingly sizing up his options, Jeff moved effortlessly towards me. If other people in the bar recognised him, they certainly didn't show it. No-one other than me seemed interested in his arrival at all. How, I don't know. Just his appearance is mesmerising.

As he made the final approach, his steps got slower and slower. I watched him study my face, taking in every detail as though he was trying to commit it to memory. His own expression gave nothing away, the dark eyebrows were only slightly furrowed in concentration. Finally, he slid into the barstool next to me. He didn't look in my direction straight away, rather he ordered himself a drink. A whiskey. Interesting choice. I had him pegged as a beer from the bottle type, but I was pleasantly surprised.

After a sip of the amber liquid, he spoke. I honestly could have blown my load at that very moment. His voice was like pure sex. A deep, almost gravely timber, with just a slight drawl at that the end suggesting southern roots. Absolute perfection.

So much for not propping up the bar.

"October?"

"Jeff?"

He turned slightly in his seat, fixing those green eyes on me. I smiled warmly, doing my best to appear as open and welcoming as possible. You'd be surprised at how nervous clients get before the first meeting. Even people who have used our services before quite often get flustered. I could see the question in his eyes, the one all clients have - _how do I greet my hooker? _Does he shake my hand, or is that too informal considering what we're meeting for? Would a hug be too familiar perhaps considering we've never met? Is a kiss on the cheek too much too soon? Would that make him presumptuous? I could almost hear the question buzzing around in his head, and I wanted to giggle.

I had to suppress the smile as the inner conflict seemed to resolve itself before my eyes. My Hardy boy settled for a slight nod of his head in my direction.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he explained, "I got caught up with a guy from the record label. You know how these corporate types can get."

I smiled graciously, secretly wanting him to say any word with a vowel again. "Don't worry about it Jeff. You're here now." I smiled again, and he visibly relaxed ever so slightly.

A tip for you prospective hookers out there. It is never the clients fault. If they're late, you don't care. If they can't get it up/wet? Totally your fault. If they tear your clothes? You never liked that top anyway. You're catching my drift here, right? Yes, you might have an issue with any of the above, but that's why we charge extras. We make the clients as comfortable as possible, and I pride myself on the level of customer service I provide.

That's the meet and greet kind of customer service you perverts, not the sex. Although I do pride myself on giving an excellent service with that too.

"So," Jeff began, downing his shot of whiskey in one gulp, "you want to get out of here?"

Straight down to business. I love this dude already. Some guys like to have a conversation before we screw. Like if they kid themselves that they're getting to know the guy behind the hooker, somehow it makes the entire thing less morally reprehensible? Whatever. I ain't paid to be a therapist.

Jeff isn't one of these guys thank god. He was anxious to get me upstairs and have his wicked way with me. And who am I to disagree? I downed what was left of my white wine in the hope that I could still walk in a convincing straight line afterward. It wouldn't do for a client to see me that inebriated, even if that was only my first glass.

Note to self: Get a fucking tolerance to alcohol.

He was obviously pleased as he stood up from the stool, allowing me to step past him. _C'mon October, one foot in front of the other_. As I walked, I brushed past him. I felt his body tense at the contact and I smiled. He was right behind me as I walked through the bar, heading to the lobby. Normally, someone being this close is a total invasion of personal space, but I didn't mind. When you've got someone as hot as Jeff Hardy breathing down your neck, you'll welcome his feet crashing into the back of your ankles.

His desire was tangible from behind me. His eyes burned into my back and I honestly wondered if we'd make it to the elevator before he jumped me on the marble floor. Hell, I'm not apposed to that. I doubt anyone else would be either considering how criminally sexy the guy is.

We just about made it to the elevator and got to the right floor. It was Jeff's turn to lead the way, and I could tell it took everything he had not to take me in the elevator. I did that once, with a client. In an elevator. He rode me senseless between floors two and twenty four. Thank god no-one else needed the carriage at that moment. I can only imagine what the press would have said had they seen that congressman balls deep in a rent boy…

Jeff slid the key card into the door, and led me into the room. Jeff obviously does well for himself, considering he had the presidential suite. Ugly red sheets on the bed seemed to bleed against the bright white walls. It was giving me a headache, but I smiled and commented on the room. Or maybe it was the alcohol making my head woozy. Who cares, right? When are we going to get to the sex you ask?

I started asking myself that too as he moved to the mini bar. Jeff poured himself another whiskey, and I tried to keep the bemused expression off my face. He offered the glass to me, but I just shook my head. Not interested in alcohol dude, I just want in your pants.

Jeff took a seat on the bed, shrugging himself out of the jacket he had been wearing. Beneath it was just a simple black vest, exposing all of his arms and part of his shoulders. He obviously worked out, but wasn't all 'roid head which is definitely sexy in my book. I have a thing for shoulders, necks and back you see. Jeff's were perfect. Wide shoulders and a strong back, with toned but big arms.

Realising I was staring perhaps a little too much, I slowly took a seat next to Jeff. Unbuttoning my jacket, I smiled into his nervous face. He blushed softly, and took a big gulp of whiskey.

This is another problem us escorts have. The first touch. It sounds silly, considering we're about five seconds away from Jeff abusing my prostate, but it happens every time. It's actually quite difficult, touching the client for the first time. Some people just pounce on them and start pawing away. I like to be a little more refined that that. Jeff isn't going to touch me first, so I have to figure out a way to grope him without it being obvious that we're here to screw.

In my experience, the first touch dictates the rest of the night. If the illusion of randomness of our meeting they've created in their head is destroyed, nine times out of ten, they get cold feet and back out of the whole evening. It doesn't matter all that much to me, considering I get paid either way. But I figure I'm here to provide a service and it's only fair that the client gets what they paid for.

Besides, I really want this guy.

I pretended not to notice the tremble of Jeff's hand as he sipped the alcohol. My eyes tumbled over his body, looking for my way to make contact.

_Bingo_

"Wow, that's an amazing tattoo Jeff."My voice was low, with just the right amount of sultry flair. The tips of my fingers gently touched his arm. They traced their way up over his arm, as though they could feel the texture of the design beneath. Gently, I eased my entire hand over his arm until I was cupping his bicep.

My hand wandered further, until I could feel his neck. The thumb stroked down the pulse I found there whilst my finger played with his purple locks. Jeff froze for a moment, the glass inches from his lips. His eyes however, were firmly locked on me. I could tell by the look I'd achieved my goal. The touch was enough to break the ice and arouse Jeff to the point where he overcame any final inhibitions.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but I was totally caught off guard as Jeff leaped towards me. The glass tumbled to a complete shatter on the floor, me along with it! Jeff's larger frame pressed against me with such force he knocked us completely off the bed.

Jeff was unfazed, landing on top of me with grunt. My wrists were pinned on either side of my head by his hands as he began to devour my neck. His knees nudged my legs apart, his hips grinding between my thighs. Well I do declare, Jeff _is_ pleased to see me.

He let go of my wrist, and grabbed a handful of my hair. Pulling it sharply back, my neck was forced to arch, exposing my throat to Jeff's tongue and lips. His teeth grazed my skin, his tongue lapping at me like I was the fountain of youth whilst his other hand wandered down my body to grab my package. Obviously he was pleased with what he found, as his groaned into my mouth as his kissed me.

His mouth was insistent, his tongue forcing its way past my lips play with my own. He explored my mouth with burning demand, tasting every last part of me. He pulled back abruptly, and span me around to lay down on front.

I have to admit, I was impressed as he ripped my shirt off me from behind, tossing it behind him to start work on my pants. They were off me without so much as a bat of an eyelid from me, my shoes being pulled from my feet with just as much fervour.

Jeff moaned as he registered the pink lace underwear I had on. His mouth burned into my back, raining kiss over my shoulders and down my spine as his hand kneaded my hips. I don't even know if he bothered to undress as he moved the panties aside to expose my ass.

As I felt his hardness pressing against me, I knew this was going to hurt. Considering how frantic Jeff was to spear me, not to mention how unprepared I was for his manhood, I made a mental note to cancel all clients for tomorrow. I was definitely going to need time to recover from this. Oh, April was going to love this one when I told her all about it tomorrow.

I'll give Jeff his due, after he was finished impaling me with his rather large member, he massaged my aching opening with his warm tongue. He worked me over gently with care, and I actually felt better for it. He even offered to get me off bless him, but I smiled and said it wasn't necessary. Quite honestly, I don't think my prostate could have taken any more stimulation that night. As it was, walking was going to be a serious issue the following day.

Still, it's as I always say. It's not a good night unless it ends in anal bruising, right?

Stay beautiful baby.


	3. Meet the Boss

**October Blush**

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So, maybe you can help me out on this one. I've always wondered what exactly it is that constitutes cheating. Let's assume for a moment that you and I are couple. That's right, me and you. Are you blushing? Don't be embarrassed girl, you're sexy as hell. Any guy would give their nut sack to get a date with you. In fact, if you're not doing anything later…

Sorry, got a little side tracked. I was asking about cheating wasn't I? So say you and I were an item. If I got friendly with another chick, say we met for coffee and hung out. There's a definite attraction between me and this girl, and you can probably tell that I want to fuck her. Hard.

Does that count as cheating?

The fact that I want somebody else who isn't you, isn't that what they call an emotional affair? Like, even though me and this hypothetical girl have never gotten physical, the fact that we both want to, and can't deny our attraction, does that count as an affair? Have I cheated?

That's a grey area huh? What about this for an example. If I'd met this girl and got myself between her thighs, or she's ridden me like a rodeo, that's a definite no-no, right?

Well what about kissing? If I kissed another woman - we're talking tongue and copious amounts of saliva here, would that be cheating? Does a kiss break the trust of a couple? Or is it just the good old fashioned swapping of genital fluids that ticks the cheating box? Well what if I wear a condom? No fluid is exchanged then. Does that technically get me off the hook from cheating?

Even though I'm about as anti-relationship as you can get, I do sometimes wonder about stuff like this. It's more to do with the clients I suppose. I'd say at least seventy per cent of the men and women I have been with have significant others - partners, wives, husbands and the like. What if the spouses knew what went on between me and their significant other? Would they accuse them of cheating? It's different really when you hire an escort, isn't it? It's not like you met this person in an organic way, you're just paying for the physical release you could just as easily get with your own hands.

The fact that there's no love involved between me and a client, would that make any difference to you? Ah, so maybe that's it. If there are actual 'feelings' involved, that must make it cheating.

I guess it's a personal choice you have to make. Me, I don't get involved so I've never had to cross that bridge. But the devils advocate in me makes me wonder exactly how I would cope, and what I would consider too much from a partner.

Anyway, all this crap came to me the other morning when I was walking to work. Okay, so I may have been walking with a slight limp. Well I defy any person to be fucked senseless by that god of a man Jeff Hardy and not have trouble walking the day after. Still, each twinge of my ass reminded me of how good Jeff was. Oh I hope to god that man becomes a regular of mine!

Crossing the street, I find myself accosted by a tramp on the opposite side of the road. Now I get this dude is homeless, but please. Give you change? I carry a gold credit card. That's it. Can you imagine an escort jingling with change as they walk? We're just like the Queen of Britain. We never carry actual money.

Unfortunately I can't help this guy. Not sure how I feel about that, if I'm being honest. Way back when before I joined the business and I was on my ass, I worked myself up to where I am today. Maybe this guy could use some tips?

At the very least, he needs a bath.

Making my way gingerly past said tramp, I finally arrive at my destination. Glancing up at the glassy grey exterior, I can't help but smile.

So this is it. The Blush empire.

We're a twenty story building in the heart of New York. The lobby is decked out in beautiful dark stained wood, with panels across the lower half of the walls and a gorgeous spiralling staircase. The walls are the colour of candy, a rosy pink glow highlighted by the up lighters spaced intermittently along the length. Against the longest wall is the desk. Cut into a 'S' shape, the stained wood is magnificent, lit underneath the edge by soft white lights. We know how to set an atmosphere here in Blush. It's not as though any clients actually see any of this, but it does make a difference when you have a nice place to work.

Sliding my way through the huge glass revolving doors, the doormen nod in my direction. I know the one of the left wants me. He told me as much. You have to appreciate honesty.

My expensive Italian shoes clatter over the marble floor as I head over towards the desk. Behind it, I can make out Torrie and Stacey, our receptionists. I swear those girls never go home. They're here in the morning before everyone else, and are always available on the phones during the nights should we need them. That's dedication for you. And the fact the boss pays them an inordinate amount. When I retire, I am so being a receptionist. It's all the fun phone sex, without the physical exertion.

As I near the desk, I make out a third figure. Man, I'd recognise that ass from fifty paces. This is the divine April Blush, my best friend in the business. April and I met on my first day. She was the 'newbie' before I started and was really good to me. I always remember being sat upstairs in the office, and she came bounding in all tits and ass with her usual enthusiasm. Hopping up onto the desk, she sat in front of me and proceeded to tell me about everyone who worked for the company - who was cool, who was insane and most importantly who couldn't keep their mouths shut and should under no circumstances be trusted.

I swear to god, for an eighteen year old - ahem - I mean twenty year old, she looked like heaven on earth. Skin the colour of glazed brown sugar and the biggest brown eyes I have ever seen. And of course, being a guy, I must mention her body. Holy crap. Her ass is like the Holy Grail of asses, and her cleavage is enough to make me want to get on my knees and thank God for coming up with boobies. I probably shouldn't speak in such guttural terms in front of you, but you get the picture, I'm sure. I tell her quite often she is perfection. At least she is to me.

It's weird. Neither of know the other's real name, and we only really ever hang out to talk about the business. But I trust her more than anyone else I work with. We're close and something of a riot when we're together. Just ask January. Wait, don't talk to him. He has a terrible case of herpes at the moment. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression of us.

Nearing the desk, I can't help myself and slap my hand across her ass. Her back arches, her head rearing up and she turns to glare at whoever it is. As she recognises me, she throws herself into my arms and meets me for a rather intense kiss.

Damn she tastes good.

"Mmmm, you taste good baby boy." She licks her bottom lip with a smirk.

"Better than tasting like shit, don't you think?"

With a giggle, she stands next to me, her arm around my waist and mine casually draped over her shoulder. "Where have you been?" She questions me immediately. "Did you spend the night with Hardy? He is fine! Was he any good? Tell me everything!"

I chuckle, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze with my hand. Straight down to business, as always. Who needs pleasantries when you've got cock to discuss? "Being accosted by a homeless guy. No. And he was amazing."

April's nose scrunches in the sexiest way at the mention of the homeless. I forgot how much she dislikes the homeless in general. If she had her way, there'd be extermination squads roaming the streets for them. It would be like ethnic cleansing. Well, cleansing of sorts anywhere. As April always puts it, those homeless people? They are, in a word? Riddled.

I'll say no more.

And as quick as the expression appears on her face, it's gone again as she digests my evening with my Hardy boy. "I thought you were walking with something of a limp. Is he big?"

I smirk almost conspiratorially. I part my hands, making a rough estimate of the length of Jeff Hardy's manhood. April's eyes bulge in wonder, and her mouth hangs involuntarily open.

Twisting the imaginary penis in my hands, I place one hand of the back of April's head and guide her open mouth to the invisible phallus.

She shakes with laughter, affectionately slapping my hands away. Once she recovers, April appraises with me a cocked eyebrow. "Sitting down a bit of a problem for you baby?"

I chuckle, playing with a strand of her silky soft hair between my fingers. "Baby, if you'd been impaled on that erection you'd be so loose right now you'd vacuum the floor wherever you walked."

April throws her head back as she laughs her huge laugh. It's amazing such a big sound can come up out of such a tiny body. But what a body it is. One of our regular clients, goes by the name Jerry Lawler once described her as 'all curves and me with no breaks.' I guess you could say April can make a room full of seated men give her a standing ovation without ever leaving their seats. Now that's something to put on your list of qualifications for prospective employers, don't you think?

Sighing after that big laugh, her eyes glint with mischief. "Oh really. So your ass is wider than the Lincoln Tunnel, is what you're saying? I'd better tell the boss takings will be down!"

It's my turn to laugh now. "Baby girl, this ass is so tight I could crack a shelled nut."

"Oh I bet you've cracked a nut in your ass once or twice." She says it so seriously, I'm powerless against it. As it happens, we both explode into riotous laughter, earning curious glances from Torrie and Stacy behind the desk. Torrie is one for gossip, not so casually leaning closer to hear what we're saying. Stacy just frowns. She must be on a call with a client.

"Is that my baby October I hear? Stay there darling!"

At the mention of my name, I roll my eyes at April, who is now making gagging motions without the aid of my invisible penis.

Turning around, we're both greeted with a vision in mauve. Sauntering down the stairs is the founder and current owner of Blush. Eric Bischoff. A flamboyant, stocky gay man, with more than his fair share of a paunch, he takes a moment to pose on the steps for effect. Dressed head to toe in a mauve suit, which does nothing to take the attention away from his ghost white hair, he dramatically throws the silk scarf he is wearing over his right shoulder. Descending to the floor, it's not lost on me that he's wearing velvet shoes. And are those heels I see? My, mauve really does bring out his sexuality.

With a greeting that Joan Collins would be envious of in her Dynasty days, Eric rests his hands on either one of my shoulders. Elbowing April to the side, he makes a show of air kissing me on each cheek - right, left and right again. Next comes the obligatory hug. This is just Eric's chance to cop a feel, and his hands glide to cup the globes of my ass. It makes no different if I protest. He just tells me he's _'checking out the merchandise being offered to his clients.'_

Holding me at arms length, a rather devious smile lights up his face. "Darling," he grins in a Cheshire cat way, "I've missed you. You haven't been by the office in days. I hope last night's meeting went well?"

I nod, trying to keep a straight face as April makes comically blow-job motions behind Eric, stretching her mouth to impossible proportions as if to show that Hardy was too big. "It was a good night Eric. Mr. Hardy tips very well. He sends his compliments on the service you provide."

Eric squeals with delight, clapping his hands vigorously together. With a face like a pantomime Dame, Eric 'suddenly' becomes aware of April behind him. She isn't given the same faux greeting I get every time. No, she gets the cold eye of suspicion. Lucky bitch.

Making slow circles around April, Eric seems to be judging her. April sighs, tossing her hair over her shoulder as though she's used to the routine. I swear he's like jealous that she's prettier than him. Finally taking a step forward, he pinches her shirt between his thumb and forefinger, holding it like it was a pair of soiled underpants. "Been at that sales rack again have we April?"

April should no better than to rise to it, but she cocks an eyebrow at Eric. "This is chiffon Eric."

"Yes well," the boss drawls, "chiffon is so _inexpensive_ these days, isn't it dear?"

Saving April the pleasure of being cut to pieces by Eric's scalpel sharp tongue, I steer him away from her by the elbow. "You're more catty than normal Eric. Time of the month sweetheart? Are you feeling a little bloated?"

I pat my hand on the bulge of his stomach. Big mistake. His eyes glint with mischief, slapping his hands over mine to guide them over his gut. "Heavens no dear heart. I had my monthly enema just yesterday."

He winks in a way that make me throw up into my own mouth. Thankfully, I don't have to say anything as he digs his hand into the jacket pocket. Unfolding a lavender piece of paper, he slides the glasses which had been hanging from a chain around his neck up onto the tip of his nose.

"I have a booking for you October," he says with a smile. His thumbs caress the paper as he starts the usual brief of who, what, when and where. When Eric comes to you with a booking, you know its important. "You're booked into the Hilton tonight to meet a Mister -…"

"Eric not tonight." Okay, so I'm whining, but you would too if you were in my condition. Seriously, my ass looks like a blood orange right now. The last thing I need is to be shafted by another client. My ass aches just thinking about it.

"Come along my angel, you know business is business. Even in your fragile condition. Anyway, you haven't been booked for penetration. Just a little lip service, if you like." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and my stomach somersaults. "You're meeting a Mr. David Batista. Very pleasant gentleman, big in the fitness world apparently. Owns a line of his own gyms and the like. Very muscular. You do like your buff clients, don't you sweet boy?"

He isn't lying. Muscular men do tend to turn me on somewhat. Before I'm given the chance to respond, April has skipped to my side, arm linked through my own. "Don't be a princess about this Toby. This Batista guy is a divine specimen of a man, and is not a guy you would ever say no to. Just stick a little cooling gel on your chute and suck it up. Literally, where he's concerned."

Et tu April? And using my nickname Toby? Oh that's low.

"If he's so hot, why don't you meet him?" I counter. I am actually a little on the tired side. Even if he doesn't want to have sex with me, I'm not sure how much company I'd be. And if we're not going to have sex, I have to at least appear interested.

"I'm sorry darling, Mr. Batista didn't request a self-serving, narcissistic little slut." He levels April with a venomous stare, before turning the salacious smile back to me. "He wants you. The room is booked from eight till nine. The Presidential Suite. He really has spared no expense. I expect you to be professional about this October."

"Don't worry boss," April replied, already pushing me towards the exit. "I'll make sure our little sex-god is ready for action tonight."

"You will let me know how this one goes, won't you October darling? October?" Eric hops around behind me, and I wave my hand vaguely over my shoulder in response. Why is it that I can never say 'no' to anyone? So my sex drive is abnormal, even I have my limits.

Once outside, April cusses Eric out so much I think she may turn the air blue. She is unbelievably sexy when she's mad. I just let her carry on bitching. "…and who is he to call _me_ a slut?"

"Oh ignore him April. You know he's just jealous." I smile, kissing her temple. "And you so owe me for this. This Batista guy had better not be a jerk. And he'd better tip damn good, too. I hope he's one of those guys that just wants to watch me jerk off or something. I don't know if I can event give head right now. Maybe I'm getting lockjaw..?"

The thought scares me, and automatically I rub my chin in my hand. April grins. "October, if there is one thing I can guarantee, is that you'll suck this guy into heaven. After all, its not like you actually have a gag reflex anymore. Just suck, bob your head up and down and moan some. He'll be done in ten minutes, tops. And you can call me later and tell me all about it." She pats my back. Why am I not reassured? "Now let's go get some lunch. I have a pedicure booked at three and I'm meeting a client at six. I need some time to glam up. Lunch is on me too. Cosmo sweetie?"

"A liquid lunch April? At a quarter to eleven in the morning. Isn't that a little early?" Whilst that is a very fair argument, given my record with alcohol, I'll be paralytic by four and no use to anyone, penetration or not. I hope this Batista guy doesn't mind doing all the work himself.

"I promise I won't get you drunk honey. Just a little kick to get you started." She's already waving down a cab, and turns back with grin. "Besides, whilst is may be early here, it's gotta be passed midday somewhere on the planet, right?"

That's me sold. I like April's logic. Cosmopolitans it is. Lord knows what kind of state I'll be by the time I get to the fitness guru. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Stay beautiful baby.


End file.
